


one big happy fraternity of people who did an awesome job together

by orphan_account



Series: DCU works [2]
Category: DCU, The LEGO Batman Movie (2017)
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Families of Choice, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Matchmaking, pre-relationship Dick Grayson/Barbara Gordon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-09 21:18:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12897015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s during his weekly brunch with Commissioner Gordon that Dick comes up with the absolute greatest idea he’s ever had.





	one big happy fraternity of people who did an awesome job together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sanj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanj/gifts).



It’s during his weekly brunch with Commissioner Gordon that Dick comes up with the absolute greatest idea he’s ever had.

"—and I think it’s just so totally amazing how you’ve taken everything you learned in Blüdhaven and modified it to work even better here in Gotham, Commissioner Gordon, ma’am."

Dick sometimes gets a little lightheaded and overexcited when he talks to Commissioner Gordon one-on-one, and not just because his sentences tend to run even longer than normal when he’s nervous. He thought maybe he'd outgrow it, this dizzy heart-racing shakiness that overtakes him whenever he sees her, but five years of weekly brunches and untold dozens of missions on and it still happens every time.

And really, who can blame him? Commissioner Gordon is smart and strong and funny and capable and driven and has amazing hair and was the youngest ever graduate of Harvard for Cops and she smells like honeysuckle and espresso and in general is just totally swell. And she’s a superhero! Dick knows a sort of anxiety-inducing number of superheroes, now, actually.

"Dick, for what is quite possibly the millionth time," Commissioner Gordon smiles at him over the rim of her coffee mug, soft and, Dick might even venture to say, fond, "you can call me Barbara. Or Babs, if that's easier for you."

"Oh, yes." Dick manages to fumble his spoon and almost knocks over his avena, which would be tragic, because it's ridiculously delicious. "Of course, Commissioner Barbara, ma'am."

And that gets a throaty little laugh and a half smile that makes Dick’s heart pound really inadvisably in his chest. He’d wonder if someone turned up the heat in here, but they’re sitting on the tiny terrace of Barbara's downtown apartment, so that can’t be it. He tugs at the collar of his shirt and grins, wide and guileless.

"I’m trying, but it takes some long term practice, Babs."

He laughs as she shakes her head, a stray curl that's worked its way free of her bun twisting sweetly against the line of her jaw. She looks like a gorgeous avenging angel in the gentle morning light, and Dick very valiantly manages not to choke on his own tongue at the sight of her.

"And I’ll say," Dick says without a hint of a nervous quiver in his voice, which he’s accomplished through literal years of practicing speaking while staring at pictures of Barbara, which Alfred assures him is only a little bit weirder than how Dad practices talking to Barbara, "for what’s quite possibly the millionth time, that I’ve been a huge admirer of yours since roughly forever and you’ll have to forgive me my slip ups."

"You're a sweetheart. And anyway, it’s not just me who makes it happen. The whole department puts in a lot of hard work along with the help of some statistics and a whole lot of compassion." Barbara winks as she pours herself another mugful of coffee from the carafe next to her plate. Dick blushes all the way up his hairline. "So I know you're graduating from Gotham U soon, but you haven't mentioned any concrete plans. Are you still considering getting into the non-vigilante side of things? I’d be happy to set up another ride along for you. I don't think you've done one since you were old enough to drive."

"Wow, that would be —" Dick trails off, visions of steering a GPD cruiser through the streets of Gotham with the lights flashing and siren blaring are already dancing in his head.

Even better, he can picture himself as a real life officer not so long from now — Officer Grayson really does have a nice ring to it, Dick thinks. Out there in the streets, taking care of the people of Gotham and taking down the dastardly criminals that plague her fair citizens. It would be omg amazing to spend his days in a police uniform and his nights fighting by his dad’s side as Robin. Speaking of his dad.

"Barbara." Dick pauses to pour a dash of milk onto his boiled amarillos. "May I ask for your opinion about a non-crime fighting quandary?"

"Of course." Barbara sets down her coffee and looks at him with her very best serious listening face. It’s very compelling.

"It's about Dad."

Barbara's face does that weird series of contortions — annoyance, grudging fondness, resignation — that accompanies any mention of Dick's dad. Over the years they've reached a fumbling sort of cooperation and mostly mutual respect, but there's a lot of baggage, there, even if they are a great team when they're forced to work together. Dick likes to think his strong arming them into working with him over the years has been helpful, but he doesn't want to give himself too much credit. Dad and Barbara aren't exactly the world's best buddies, or anything.

"Okay, just gimme a second to get into the correct headspace for this conversation." Barbara closes her eyes, brows furrowing, and takes a long slow breath in and back out. "Right. Yes. I'm ready. Probably."

Dick bites back a smile and nods. "The thing is, I'm a little worried about him."

"Worried how?" Barbara's expression is exquisite with the kind of sympathy only someone deeply familiar with the workings of Bruce Wayne's mind and moods can manage. "Worried like he's not sleeping enough and spending too much time inventing gadgets with 'Bat' in the name? Or worried like you think he's about to try out supervillainy for a change of pace?"

"Never the second one!" Dick replies, immediate and sure. "Kind of the first one? It's just that, well, I was gonna keep this as a surprise, but." He pulls the letter from his pocket and passes it across the table to Barbara.

She looks down at the envelope for just a moment before her lips curl into a wide grin. "You got in?"

"I got in." Dick can feel his own goofy smile slipping across his face. "Harvard for Cops. I couldn't have done it without all your help, Barbara."

"Nonsense," she insists, passing back the letter, but there's a distinct flush across her cheeks. "You were already an excellent candidate without any training from me. But what does that have to do with Bruce?"

"It's just that I'm nervous about leaving him." Worry curls low and sharp and extremely unpleasant in Dick's stomach. "I know it's only for a couple of months, but that's the longest I'll have been gone since he adopted me. We all remember the summer camp debacle that first year."

Barbara winces and nods. Dick and Dad are both still banned from Camp Crest Hill. It took them months to clean up all the pudding.

"That was a while ago, Dick, and it's not like he's ever alone-alone." She starts to say something else but seems to think better of it. Instead she takes a huge bite of batatas asadas and chews studiously.

"I know he won't be alone, not really," Dick allows, "but Alfred isn't as young as he used to be and Dad was never great about listening to his advice in the first place. I could list...just, so many examples."

Barbara snorts. "I’m sure you could."

"I just think it’d be a good idea to find someone he could spend some of his free time with before I leave." Dick returns Barbara’s wide smile, always happy to see Barbara happy even if it’s at his or his dad's expense, "You know, so he starts getting used to it before I have to head to Cambridge."

"So you want to set him up on friend-dates or something?" Barbara chuckles into her coffee, unaware of the wrench she’s just tossed into the gears of his brain.

"Oh my golly gee wow, that’s it!" Dick almost knocks over the little bud vase of daisies in his excitement. "Barbara, you are a total genius."

"Of course I am," Barbara replies with the self assurance that someone as cool and amazing as Barbara totally should have. "Why in this particular moment are we articulating that, though?"

"I’ll find someone for Dad to date!" Then he gets momentarily distracted from planning because Barbara chokes and spits her mouthful of coffee halfway across the table. "Oh my gosh, Barbara, are you alright?"

Barbara waves a placating hand, coughing into her napkin. "Fine," she rasps. "Just surprised me while I was taking a sip. You're going to find Bruce someone to date so he's too distracted to be upset you're leaving?"

"It's a perfect plan! Now I just have to think of someone who'd be able to keep up with Dad for a few months." Barbara kindly refrains from correcting that 'keep up with' to 'put up with.' As much as Dick loves his dad, he knows exactly how much of a handful he is. "It should probably be someone from the League. They already see him fairly frequently and they've all been read in on his civilian identity, so no worries about keeping secrets."

"Oh, Dick, I don't know—"

Dick gasps, struck suddenly with an absolutely and totally amazing idea. "What about Clark?"

Barbara's face does something complex, a peculiar mixture of her 'that is a terrible plan, but I'm not sure we've got anything better' face and the one he's pretty sure is the fond expression reserved just for Dick. He tries really, really hard not to read too much into that second part, because Barbara is the absolute best and he doesn't want to make things between them weird. That might actually break Dick's heart, rather than the usual dull, low-level and mostly manageable ache he always feels around Barbara.

"Clark and Lois broke up a while ago and I heard he's been thinking about getting back out there and dating again. Who could be better suited than the protectors of two great cities who already work on a team together?" His face splits into a wide grin. "They have so much in common! And they both look so great in tuxedos. Could you imagine the wedding pictures?! Cat Grant would absolutely flip if she managed to get her hands on those."

"I don't mean to question your tactical or, uh, matchmaking abilities," Barbara says, slowly, like she's choosing her words with careful deliberation, "but is everything you know about dating stuff you learned from your dad's romantic comedy collection?"

"Of—of course not!" Dick adjusts the cuffs of his precisely ironed shirt—Alfred is always very insistent about his attire on brunch days, and Dick isn't one to question the sartorial advice of Alfred Pennyworth—and doesn't meet Barbara's eyes. "I've also read Alfred's collection of Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer novels. That's gotta be everything you need to know for matchmaking, right?"

Barbara stares at him, unblinking, for a long moment. "You know what? You've done more with less." She extends her mug towards Dick, who fumbles for his teacup. "To finding Bruce Wayne's better half."

"Hear, hear!"

Dick takes a long gulp of agualoja, anticipation curling in his belly at the thought off the night's Justice League meeting.

 

+

 

The Watchtower is maybe the coolest place Dick gets to go on a regular basis, which is saying something, because he's been Bruce Wayne's kid for years, now, which means he's welcome pretty much everywhere. But the Watchtower is an actual _spacestation_ , like, that stays _in space_ all the time and he gets to take a rocket to get there, which is totally cool no matter how many times he does it. Plus, a bunch of his favorite people are there when he goes, and it's always great to spend time with his friends, even if they're teaming up to defeat evil or whatever.

Defeating evil is pretty fun, too.

But today, today Dick has a mission all of his own. Solo missions always make him nervous, plus he's actually not great with the whole stealth thing without his mask on. Which is why it's not exactly a surprise when Diana slips into a chair next to him during the after-meeting meal and murmurs —

"Dick, may I ask if everything is alright? You seem slightly ill at ease."

"I'm fine, thank you, Wonder Woman, just—" Dick smiles at Diana, who is beautiful and strong and kind and brave and absolutely, positively 100% wrong for Dad, which is a shame, because he's sure she'd be a super great mom. "I kind of have a plan and I'm a bit nervous about how it's going to play out."

"Do you wish to discuss it?"

Dick bites his lip, eyes scanning the room as the other members of the League mingle, chatting and helping themselves to the spread of food and drinks that Alfred had prepared. He spots Dad, armor on, but without the cowl, talking with Martian Manhunter near the punch bowl.

"I don't think so, but I'll let you know." Diana ruffles his hair with an inhumanly strong hand and a sweet smile. "It's not League business, just personal stuff, I promise."

"Well, let me know if you find yourself in need of assistance, Robin." She rises from her chair with lithe grace and winks before heading for where several League members are loudly discussing the previous night's Sharks vs Rogues football game. By her broad hand gestures, she was apparently unimpressed with one of the official's calls.

Dick finally gets the opening he's been waiting for when he spots Clark heading for the hallway that leads to his usual airlock exit. He makes as stealthy an escape as he can—which is fairly, although not as stealthy as Dad would've managed—and slips out of the room after Clark.

"Did you need something, Dick?"

Superhearing. Dick always forgets about the superhearing.

"Uh, hey Clark." Dick shuffles his feet awkwardly, glancing back towards the banquet room before smiling sheepishly at Clark. "Yeah, I was actually wondering if you had any plans for tomorrow night."

"Wow." Clark's face goes from surprised to alarmed and then to his blandly pleasant 'aw shucks, just another day's work saving the city of Metropolis' expression so swiftly Dick isn't entirely sure he saw it. "Um, well, kiddo, I am totally flattered and everything, but it's just that—"

Dick mentally rewinds what he said and realizes what Clark must've thought and— "Oh, golly gee no. I wasn't trying to ask you out on a date!"

Clark frowns, head tilting to the side and feet hovering a few millimeters above the ground, just enough to give Dick a very slight sense of seasickness at the small movements when he tries to meet Clark's eyes. "Right." Clark drops back to the floor and Dick breathes a sigh of relief. "Not that you aren't a nice young man. Anyone would be lucky to go out on a date with you, it's just, well, um."

"Totally get it!" Only Dick could mess this up so badly that Clark Kent aka Superman aka the nicest guy in several solar systems feels the need to let him down nicely. "Anyway, I sort of have my eye on somebody else."

"Oh, really?" Clark waggles his eyebrows. "And who might that—"

"Irrelevant!" Dick can feel his face turning red and Clark very kindly hides his grin behind one hand. "Totally irrelevant."

"Sure, Dick." Clark bites his lip, fairly obviously to keep from laughing. He does try, at least. "So, then what—"

"I just wanted to invite you to a little graduation slash 'I got into Harvard for Cops' dinner."

"You got in!" Clark looks genuinely delighted and very carefully claps Dick on the shoulder. It still nearly sends Dick sprawling, but it's the thought that counts, and Dick grins through the slight bruising he's sure will appear on his shoulder before he gets home tonight. "I never doubted you for a moment."

"Thanks." Sometimes Dick still feels like that anonymous orphan who didn't have anybody, and then things will happen like Superman telling him he never doubted him and his entire worldview very briefly spins on its axis. "I'm sure the letter of recommendation you sent in was a huge help."

"I didn't say anything that wasn't true. I think you'll make a fine addition to whatever type of law enforcement group you join after graduation."

Clark smiles and it's totally dazzling and it takes Dick a minute to remember what exactly they were talking about. Oh, yes, right.

The Plan.

"Right, well. It's just gonna be a few people at my dad's place that I want to thank for their help. Alfred was gonna make a bunch of my favorite foods. He thinks I'm gonna waste away while I'm gone." Clark laughs the laugh of someone who knows what it's like to have loved ones try to feed you in order to show their affection. Dick's had the distinct pleasure of Martha Kent's home cooking, so he knows that Clark appreciates fine food. "You don't need to bring anything, just yourself. Around seven o'clock work for you?"

"Well, Dick, I really would love to, but—"

"Oh, Clark, please say yes. You only have to stay for an hour or so." And then, because Dick is nothing if not determined, he breaks out his secret weapon: the giant 'love me, I am a sad orphan in need of your affection' eyes that have a 97% success rate with everyone who isn't his dad's sworn nemesis. Nemeses. Dad has a lot of enemies who claim to be his nemesis, anyway. "It would really just mean a whole lot to me."

And because Clark is one of the nicest people ever and Martha Kent, bless her, raised him right, Clark smiles, soft and obliging, and nods. "Sure thing. I'd love to come."

Dick loves it when a plan comes together.

 

+

 

At dinner the next night, Dick wonders if maybe Barbara wasn't right about his lack of experience in the art of matchmaking.

Clark has a look on his face like he'd forgotten why he spent so much time daydreaming about punching Dad in the face, but it's swiftly coming back to him, now. Which is about what Dick would expect after Dad inadvertently insulted: the fine architecture of the city of Metropolis, Kansas home cooking, the color blue (???), and Lois Lane's most recent hairstyle.

Dad has many fine qualities, but his habit of absently offending everyone in earshot when he pontificates is not one of them.

"And that," Dad says, winding down a story about his most recent run-in with the Joker, staring directly into Clark's eyes as he speaks, "is why only I can be relied upon to take care of Gotham."

"Was that supposed to be ominous?" Clark asks, fork paused halfway between his plate and his mouth.

They've been in each other's pockets for years and it's still hard for Dick to tell with Dad, who's inherently dramatic and not self aware enough to realize that. Dick loves Bruce Wayne with the undying devotion born of hero worship compounded by years of more-or-less successful parenting and obvious love. But the shiny 'he can do no wrong' wore off pretty fast, replaced with Alfred's fond 'he's kind of a trainwreck, but he's our trainwreck' attitude.

"Because it sounded pretty ominous."

Dad scowls at Clark across the beautiful centerpiece that Alfred spent three hours crafting this morning, but the corner of his mouth is twitching, so Dick figures he's not actually that upset.

"It was not intended as ominous." Dad raises one eyebrow in a way that Dick knows he thinks is dashing, but mostly just make him look slightly lopsided and a teensy little bit deranged. "Just pointing out that we don't need help from outside of Gotham to take care of our own."

"Oh, this again," Clark says, rolling his eyes, and Barbara looks a little startled.

Dick sometimes forgets that Barbara only ever sees Clark when he's in Gotham on League business and thus in full Superman-mode, when he and Dad are trying really hard to be professional, shiny examples of team players. When it's Clark and Bruce, instead of Superman and Batman, they're a lot more casual. And Dad tends to bring out the oft-hidden sarcastic side of Clark that Dick finds so entertaining and that surprises the heck out of most people.

"Oh, _what_ again?" Dad asks, eyes narrowing.

"I'm not trying to move in on your turf, Bruce," Clark says, setting his fork down on his plate not quite gently enough. There's an audible snapping sound as the antique silver and china meet an undignified end. "Sorry, Alfred."

"It is quite alright, Master Kent," Alfred says, rising from his own seat—and it had taken quite a lot of pleading for Dick to even convince Alfred to join the small party rather than remaining in the kitchen, but he'd eventually conceded that such an informal affair wouldn't be too inappropriate for him to attend, at least not if Master Dick was going to be so insistent on the matter—and swiftly removing the broken tableware to disappear into the kitchen.

"And now you've upset Alfred," Bruce says, rising from his chair.

"Oh, come on, Bruce," Clark stands as well, folding his arms over his broad chest. "You know I didn't mean—"

Dick snags Barbara by the elbow and nods towards the kitchen door Alfred fled through. They make a hasty exit as Clark and Bruce continue arguing with rising volume.

The faint sounds of pinot grigio being poured into an oversized glass as Alfred mutters about poor life choices drifts through the pantry door, so Barbara and Dick station themselves just inside the kitchen's entrance to eavesdrop.

"And another thing!" Dad says, accompanied by the sound of silverware rattling as he slams a hand onto the table. At least Dick assumes it was Dad. If Clark slammed his hand on the table they probably would've heard the wood breaking along with the sound of all the dishes tumbling to the ground.

"We shouldn't be listening to this," Barbara says in the tone of a woman who desperately wants to listen, but knows she probably shouldn't.

"Aw, c'mon," Dick protests. "I put a lot of planning into this!" 

Barbara shoots him an amused look, eyebrows rising as Clark shouts something about pizza and a giant squid. "You literally just invited Clark to dinner yesterday."

"Yeah," Dick allows, "and I had to break out the puppy dog eyes to get him to agree!"

"Okay, yeah, that's fair." Barbara laughs. "That does take effort."

"Um, Barbara?" Dick looks at the kitchen door with trepidation. "Does it seem like it maybe got a little too quiet in there?"

Barbara's gaze follows his and they both wait for the sound of speaking. It doesn't come and it doesn't come and oh no, what if his Dad tries to _fight Superman._ That never turns out well for Dad.

Dick and Barbara burst through the kitchen door only to find Clark and Dad locked together in what is definitely not a fight unless their fights usually involve kissing and ripping the buttons off one another's shirts.

"Oh my god." Barbara breathes and Clark and Dad break apart, red faced and muttering apologies while straightening their clothes. "Your plan actually worked. Gotham is so weird. Superheroes are so weird. Dick, your family is _so weird_."

"I'm sorry," Clark says, brow furrowing. "I literally have no idea what you're talking about."

"Dick has decided you belong to them," Barbara explains, not entirely unkindly. "Your future is bleak, Kent."

Clark looks a little dazed, but a small smile curls the corners of his mouth as he turns to Dad.

"Hey, Wayne."

"What?" Dad snaps, whirling towards Clark with a scowl that's at least 83% for show.

"What do you say to getting dinner with me, sometime?"

Dad stares at Clark, eyes wide. "Well, sure. Yeah. I mean." He clears his throat and tugs at the splayed halves of his ripped dress shirt, cheeks flushing. "That would be acceptable, I guess."

"Cool."

"Yeah." Dad's smile grows to match Clark's and Dick hasn't been this happy since Dad adopted him all those years ago. "That'd be pretty, uh, pretty cool."

Dick’s eyes meet Barbara’s and he can’t hold back a laugh, light and joyful. He knew this was the absolute greatest idea he's ever had. Barbara bites her lip like she’s trying not to smile, but she winks at him and his heart skips a beat.

Yeah. Dick thinks everything is gonna work out just fine.


End file.
